Very Nearly Almost Happily Ever After
by Scribbler
Summary: [one shot] Weddings are never easy. They have a nasty habit of turning everyone into grouchy, grunty, irritable little balls of tension. And a mutant wedding? Well, that's just one more layer of pressure...


**Disclaimer –** Thomas Moore made famous the joke of a father saying to his son, "It is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife," to which his son replied, "Why, so it is, father – whose wife shall I take?"

**A/N – **I am not a 'shipper. But this is pure gratuitous shipping, because it's for Shadow Diva, who _is _a shipper. ;) Happy Belated Birthday, Diva.

**Feedback –** _PLEASE!_

* * *

_Very Nearly Almost Happily Ever After_

© Scribbler, January 2005.

* * *

"I'm gonna choke in this monkey-suit."

"What is it with you and suits?" Roberto fussed around like he did this every day. "Anybody'd think you wore tuxedoes to breakfast, lunch and dinner, the way you go on."

Ray grumped. "Let's just say me and penguin-wear don't have a happy history."

"Yeah, well, far be it for me to argue about silk purses and sows' ears, but if you turned up today in jeans and a tee shirt, Kitty would have my head." Roberto stood back and folded his arms. "And that, ladies and gents, is all she wrote. I can't do any more without a surgeon's knife involved."

"Fuck you, Da Costa." Ray surveyed the damage in the mirror. "I hate suits," he said once more for good luck. "Hate 'em."

"Oh, do shut up, Ray."

Scott poked his head around the door. "Hey guys, your transportation awaits and – hey, Ray. Looking good."

"Piss off, Summers. Last thing I need right now is a pep talk from you."

Scott frowned. "Is this stomach-butterflies being channelled into a bad mood, or have I said something, done something, or looked at him wrong?"

Roberto ducked under Ray's arm, popping a top hat with his fist. Like Scott, he was decked out in full regalia – a salmon pink tux with gold cufflinks and a red rose in the breast pocket. There was some degree of irony that it looked better on him than the groom. "Like you could tell the difference between a regular black mood and a special occasion black mood? C'mon people, time's a-wastin'."

* * *

"Kitty Crisp?"

"Ray Pryde?"

"Kitty Pryde-Crisp?"

"Ray Crisp-Pryde?"

"It's no use." Tabitha propped her chin on a fist. "Whatever happens, one of them is going to have the name from hell. Like Julia Goolia."

Jean rolled her eyes and readjusted her bouquet. "I knew we shouldn't have let you watch _The Wedding Singer _last night. I swear, if you start doing Steve Buschemi impressions, I won't hold her back."

"Oh please." Tabby leaned back against the plush leather interior and raised her elbows to rest against the seat. "I was just getting in the mood. And anyway, like Kitty-Kat's gonna be able to do more than just hang onto her cookies long enough to say 'I do'?"

Jean looked a tad worried, but only a tad. She was ever the faithful optimist, after all. "I hope so. I'm standing within spew-radius."

* * *

"I'm going to be sick."

"No you ain't."

"Yes, I really am. I'm going to throw up. Right now."

"Well for heaven's sake, do it in the bathroom, then. An' leave your veil here!"

Amara was balancing one large and three smaller – though no less delicate – bouquets in her arms. Bits of cherry blossom littered the carpet around her like the fallout from a nuclear explosion.

Danielle peeped out from around a pile of crumpled white fabric. A halo of fake pink flowers sat askew on the crown of her head, and she dared not move in case she tripped over her hemline again. There was going to have to be some judicious positioning of her bouquet to hide the smudge from where she'd hit the deck before.

"I will never understand how we got roped into this."

"You an' me both," Rogue replied, leaning backwards against the wall. She'd discarded her headgear a while ago, in between putting pins in her mouth and following the bride-to-be around with her frock. "Less n' an hour to go, and Li'l Miss Upchuck is bein'… well…" There was no real way to finish that sentence.

An awful sploshing sound from the_ en suite _said that Kitty had been telling the truth.

Rogue knocked on the door after an appropriate amount of time had passed. "Y'all okay in there?"

"No," Kitty said weakly. "I can't do it, Rogue. I _can't_."

"You're just gettin' last minute jitters, is all. Hurry it up now, an' let's get you fixed up."

"I _can't -_" Kitty tried again.

"I'm givin' you to the count of three, an' then I'm comin' in."

"Rogue - "

"One."

"You don't understand - "

"Two."

"Rogue, _please - _"

"Three. Here I come, ready or not." Rogue pushed open the door, which was unlocked. She thought there was probably something she could read into that, but the overpowering smell drove it from her thoughts. It slapped her in the face the moment she went inside. "Jeez Louise, Kitty! Open a window or sumthin', before we all asphyxiate!"

* * *

Bobby and Sam were debating whether anyone would notice if one of the champagne bottles went missing.

Ororo floated from flower display to flower display. She created small cloudbursts over each that looked like it was wilting, every single raindrop miraculously missing her violet chemise. She wasn't in charge of the flowers, but she'd taken up the task anyway when they arrived the night before, saggy and dejected.

Logan was avoiding putting on his Good Suit. He inspected the marquee to make sure it was sturdy enough to withstand a mutant wedding. Not that anybody was expecting trouble, but with the X-Men… anything was possible. He was just surprised the punch hadn't exploded yet.

He noticed Sam and Bobby sliding furtively along the incredibly long buffet table. It wasn't difficult, given there were no guests around yet. They stopped at his low growl.

"Afterwards."

"But - " Bobby started.

"If you're looking for something to do, they could use a hand or four in the kitchen." He beckoned with one finger.

They followed, grumbling.

"I tol' ya we should've waited 'til he was done."

"Sam? Shut up."

* * *

Kitty's Aunt Aggie, who was in her late sixties but seemed a great deal older, had, along with an arthritic hip and a moustache, the white powdery lips people get from sucking too many indigestion tablets. There was also lipstick on her teeth, and fish paste on her breath; all of which showed up dreadfully when she fixed Jamie with another lecherous grin.

He manoeuvred her slowly through the growing crowd, one elbow caught in her vice-like armpit. People from the bride's family were recognisable by the way they scuttled aside when they spotted her coming. Those who knew no better either stopped for a chat or nodded and received an approximation of a sexy wink in reply.

Jamie regretted volunteering to help guests from their cars.

He spotted Tabitha and a holoprojected Kurt across the lawn. Amanda was just going inside to change from the jeans and old check shirt she'd worn to help with the setting up. Jamie waved furiously at the remaining pair in a 'come save me' kind of way.

They waved back, not budging an inch.

"Ah, but you're a likely looking lad," Aunt Aggie beamed, knocking against his shin with her cane in what he supposed was an affectionate gesture. "Makes me sad I never married m'self. Still, not being tied down _does_ have its benefits. Greater flexibility, for one…" She waggled her eyebrows at him, and then raised her head. The tendons in her neck bulged, and she let out a long, loud, noisy fart. "'Scuse me."

Jamie bowed to fate and steered her towards the designated downstairs powder room.

* * *

Hank was guiding people into their seats.

If any of them were surprised to see a large blue man with exceptionally long arms as an usher, then they gave no outward sign of it. Of course, it helped a lot that each and every one of them had been previously briefed on what to expect on… well, a day like today. Those who hadn't agreed had stayed home, and those in attendance were under strict instructions not to make waves, point fingers, throw or excrete any kind of explosive, or sell untrue and scandalous stories to any form of media or publisher.

Not that he was complaining at the rules. They made his life, and the lives of some of the more… unusual guests a lot easier. Jubilee had brought a young man with blue hair and opaque eyes, and Hank was fairly sure Ororo was pleased that Evan numbered among those present, too.

"Right this way, please. Yes, you sit here. Bride's family on this side, groom's here, and the rest in the middle."

"Such a nice, uh, man," he heard one woman say after she was seated. "Sounds like, uh, what's his name. The one from Casablanca."

"Humphrey Bogart?"

"No, no, the other one. Hang on, uh, do I mean Casablanca? Hmm, wait a second, it'll come to me…"

Hank rolled his eyes, but kept smiling and moved on.

* * *

"I'm not going down there!"

"See, the thing about a weddin', Kitty, is that it usually requires a bride. In this case, you."

"My entire family is down there!"

"Kitty - "

"My entire _extended_ family!"

"Kitty - "

"Do you have any idea what it's like when you get _all_ my family together in the same place? Uncle Herbert's probably already drunk and facedown on the carpet!"

"Amara, quick, she's headin' for the bathroom again!"

"Don't worry, Rogue, I've melted the lock."

"Now Kitty, be reasonable about this – aw, damn."

"What?"

"I think I ripped my friggin' hem when I just stepped on it."

* * *

"Jubilee!"

Jubilee turned and was nearly bowled over. Jamie, under the guise of being friendly, pumped her arm up and down and then hid behind her. He'd never really grown very tall, so even though he was officially an adult, he was still short enough to pay child prices at the movies. Consequently, it wasn't any great thing to hide behind even her slender form.

"Nice to see you. How long's it been? Since April, right? Are your parents well? You see Mr. McCoy anywhere around? I have a guest that needs showing to a seat."

"Uh, hi Jamie." She lifted her arm and peered at him. He wore a slightly crazed and hunted expression, and was so tense that even his hair seemed clenched. "Nice as it is for you to be fondling my butt, I think my date's going to want to know why you're back there. As soon as he gets back from wherever he disappeared off to, of course."

"Shh. I'm hiding."

"From what? I thought it was Sam and Bobby who stole the champagne from under Logan's nose."

In reply, he looked at her with a gaze she'd thought reserved for really scary horror movies and particularly disgusting childbirth documentaries. "I've seen things no person deserves to see. Enraged Logan no longer tops the list of Traumatic Sights That Will Keep My Therapist Paid Until I'm Thirty."

"Riiight…"

"James," called a voice.

Jubilee looked up to see a slightly dumpy old woman hobbling from the mansion at a surprising clip. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but it looked like her blouse was on inside out.

"James, darling. Where'd you go?"

Jamie gave a small 'eep'. When Jubilee turned around, he was gone.

* * *

"Ray, stop fiddling with your collar."

"Piss off."

"Okay, but you're going to tear it - "

"When I want your advice, I'll... no, actually, I won't ask for it, because I don't want it. Fuck off."

Roberto shrugged off the usual barrage of insults and bad language, and looked out of the window. Say what you would about Scott's uptightness, but the guy could circumnavigate a tailback better than anyone either of them knew.

He tipped his head and whistled as two girls in _very _short micro-skirts wobbled past. Then he grinned at Ray. "I totally respect you and the institution of matrimony, devotion, fidelity, yadda yadda yadda – but man, I _love_ being a free agent."

Ray tugged again at his collar. "Make my life a lot easier, Da Costa. Stop talking."

"You wound me with your words, Raymond Shakespeare."

"I'll wind down the window and make them think you yelled something obscene so they come over and slap you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, dude. Besides, if they didn't want me looking, they shouldn't wear such charming clothing."

"Pfft. Charming. Yeah."

"It's true. Charming is the new 'it' word. Everything on the catwalk's 'charming'. I only watch televised fashion shows for the style tips."

"And Kate Moss's ass."

"What ass?"

"What I don't understand," Scott interrupted from behind the wheel, "is why you couldn't just stay at the mansion like everyone else, Ray. Why do we have to transport you across town from your apartment when it's much easier for you to do like Kitty did and sleep over for a few days?"

"Her idea," Ray replied. "Tradition, superstition, inquisition – pick one and that's why we had to be kept apart until the wedding. I drew the short straw for staying in the apartment."

"It's a nice apartment," Roberto offered.

Ray snorted. "It's a shitty apartment. But it's what we can afford, and it's got a good location, so we're not complaining."

"Now there's a surprise."

"How about a nice cup of shut the fuck up?"

Roberto raised his palms defensively. "Jeez, nervous much? Anyway, you'll probably appreciate being left there when the music starts playing and this vision of loveliness and white lace comes floating down the aisle. You watch, Kitty's probably dressed up to the nines and awaiting your timely entrance as we speak."

* * *

Rahne wasn't sure what worried her more: the fact that Bobby and Sam had stolen Jubilee's date, and all three were now giggling tipsily in the coatroom; the fact that she could smell Jamie _under_ the buffet table, despite seeing another Jamie wandering around on the arm of some old crone; or the fact that people were getting fidgety and neither the bride nor the groom had appeared yet.

Her foster mother, Moira, leaned close. "_These_ are the people you were so eager for me to meet? The ones you made me ingest Xanax and cross an ocean for?"

"Well, there's usually a lot less nervousness and fewer bouquets and canapés involved, but aye."

Moira raised an eyebrow. "Right. Just checking."

They sat in silence for a minute.

"Mam?"

"Aye?"

"What's a 'shikseh'?"

Moira's answer was lost in the cheer that went up when a red convertible entered the grounds and disgorged its salmon-pink passengers.

* * *

Ray climbed out of the car and cricked his neck back into line. Some people cracked their knuckles as a habit. He popped his spinal column.

"Dude, gross." Roberto clapped him on the back the way only friends and once-enemies/rivals can.

"Get your paws off me, Da Costa."

Scott laid a hand on his other shoulder and steered him towards the red and white striped marquee that could have doubled for a circus tent in size. "Nu-uh-uh. Make nice, now. You're going straight into the lion's den, man – a large congregation of your intended's folks. So paste on a smile and get ready to play Good Little Son-in-Law-to-be."

Ray never cringed. Ever.

But as they rounded the corner and came into view of the multitude – a larger than expected proportion of whom were wearing yarmulke – he came as close as he'd ever done.

* * *

Rogue sighed and congratulated herself. They'd managed to get Kitty into her wedding dress and had pulled her short hair back into a decent chignon. Her face still looked wan, but was considerably perkier than it had been, and she'd been plied without enough toothpaste, mouthwash and breath fresheners that she'd smell of mint for the entire honeymoon.

"I'm going to phase through the floor and hide in the furthest sub-sub-sub-basement," Kitty declared while they fussed around her ruffles.

The bride's dress was exactly the same as the bridesmaids', save it was white instead of pink, and had more lace edgings. Personally, Rogue thought it made them look like they belonged on top of expensive chocolate boxes, but she'd bitten her tongue three months ago when she first saw them, and wasn't about to go spoiling things now.

"No you're not," Danielle said decisively. Her halo had fallen off completely now, and was lying somewhere amongst the sewing detritus Amara had fetched. ""You're going to let us finish sprucing you up, and then you're going to come downstairs, go outside into the glorious sunshine, and you are going to get married."

"I'll bet she's already complaining about the food."

Amara's head emerged from underneath several layers of unnecessary white petticoat. "Who?"

"My mother."

"Ororo and your Auntie Maud worked really hard on that buffet," Rogue offered. She hoped it was Auntie Maud. In Kitty's family, the titles 'Auntie' and 'Uncle' weren't reserved for blood relatives, but were applied liberally to anyone who had been a friend for a number of years. Consequently, there were so many it was difficult to keep track of them all.

"Your Auntie Yetta turned up with some stuff, too," Amara added.

Kitty let out a despairing wail. "My mother _hates_ Auntie Yetta!"

Rogue's left eye twitched. "Look, Kitty, let's get down to brass tacks. Do you love the guy?"

"What?"

"Ray. Your fiancée. Do. You. Love. Him?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then that's all that matters, ain't it? Not the food, not the outfits, not the location, nor the weather. It shouldn't matter whose payin' for this shindig, who gave what gift, or what colour the suits are. It shouldn't matter whether you have a rabbi, a vicar or a flippin' naval officer! What matters is that you're standin' up in front of folk an' sayin' out loud that you love Ray, an' you're gonna spend the rest of your lives lovin' each other, come hell or high water. I ain't never seen you back down from nuthin' you were scared of, an' I ain't about to see you start now. So let's go and get you hitched, y'hear?"

The silence was stifling.

Rogue wondered if she'd overdone it.

She was saved from further awkwardness by a knock at the bedroom door. "Kitty?"

"Shit!" Kitty cursed, breaking the silence. She stepped down from the chair and fumbled to pick up her skirts so she could walk without falling flat on her face. "That's my Dad. Where are my shoes?"

"I think I saw them by the bath," Danielle said, and dived for the _en suite_. "The veil's in here, too."

"Put them on, quick," Rogue instructed, tugging on the edges of her gloves and reaching for the doorknob. "You ready?"

Kitty took a long, shuddering breath and nodded. "As I'll ever be. But Rogue - "

"Not a word more out of you, Kitty Pryde. You've said you're ready, so we'd best get goin' before you change your mind." Rogue opened the door with a flourish and smiled breezily at Mr. Pryde, hoping she didn't look as frazzled as she felt. "I think our engines might be good an' primed now."

Mr. Pryde looked at her face. Then he looked down, blushed scarlet, and averted his eyes. "Uh…"

Rogue blinked and followed his gaze. "Oh … hell's butt."

Her skirts, to save the speedy repair job from being torn out again, had been tucked into her underwear while they organized Kitty. In her haste and distraction to ensure there _was _a wedding, Rogue had forgotten to untuck them before opening the door.

* * *

Ray was beginning to get worried. His palms were sweaty, his neck felt three sizes smaller than it had this morning, and his hair was constantly flopping into his eyes.

In a complete antithesis to when they were teenagers, when Kitty cut her hair short, he had decided to grow his out. They weren't quite at the stage where he let her brush it for him, but it curled around his ears and the nape of his neck, and his bangs – still lighter than the rest – were long enough to fall either side of his face instead of bristle above it.

His mother kept shooting him pointed glances from the front row. She was wearing a beige twin set with a tiny matching hat. It looked like some predator had left a small dead animal on top of her head

There was a commotion from somewhere at the back. Everyone turned to look, then hastily rearranged themselves when the specially commissioned band started to play. True to form, Ray and Kitty had compromised and hired a small rock quartet called 'Brothers of Anarchy' – Aunt Aggie's gift. Strains of _Here Comes the Bride_ rang out on a subdued electric guitar.

And then there she was, walking down the aisle, exactly as Roberto had said she would be. And for a second Ray felt so relieved, so glad, so _cheerful_ that he was willing to let it slide that Da Costa had been right about something.

* * *

The wedding went better than Rogue had expected. The casualties were minimal, only three chairs were beyond repair, and everyone was expected to make a full recovery.

Whether or not Kitty and Ray were actually _married_ was a matter of dispute. Nobody had actually heard either of them say 'I do'. Personally, Rogue reckoned they'd skipped straight to the lip-locking bit.

She sidled up to the Professor, who was by the buffet table and just finishing a conversation with the infamous Auntie Yetta.

The table itself looked marvellous, if slightly depleted. Still, the white damask cloth – donated by Mrs. Crisp for the occasion – was still home to dozens of plates, platters and silver gallery trays stacked to Kilimanjaro heights with cakes, bagels, sausage rolls, pickled herrings, fishballs and other, less easily identifiable delicacies. Despite complaints from both Ray and Kurt, there were no wieners-on-sticks to be seen.

Rogue realised how hungry she was, but her insides were still too jumpy to think about food. Cups of tea and coffee were circulating, but she decided on the spot that she needed something stronger.

Steadfastly untouched on one end of the table – the end, coincidentally, nearest the Professor – were tiny glass thimbles of whisky, sweet sherry and cherry brandy. Rogue calculated she would need to down at least ten glasses to get a hit, and wondered how she could do so without drawing attention to herself and becoming known as Kitty's Best Friend the Dipso.

She was saved when the Professor turned to her, picked up a whisky and pushed it into her hands.

"Was I broadcastin'?"

"No, you just looked like you could use a stiff drink."

"Oh." She downed it without further comment. After a further brandy and a sherry she looked at him and rolled her eyes. "Successful day, huh?"

"Eventful. I'm not sure about successful. Did _you _hear them say 'I do'?"

"Can't say that I did. But what the hell. Who cares about details?" It was said with no small trace of irony. "So, regrettin' your gift yet?"

"Paying for a wedding, and opening my house to dozens of guests for the union of two students I would never, in a million years, have predicted being married to each other?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Not a bit."

Rogue toasted him with an empty glass, and then paused. "Hey, is that Jubilee crawlin' under the tablecloth down there?"

"I believe so. The guest she brought is otherwise indisposed. And Rahne is about to follow her."

Sure enough, a figure – recognisable despite her usual pigtails – crossed the grass and slipped under the tablecloth. Rogue was close enough to hear three different voices chattering away, interspersed by hands reaching up and around to grab sausage rolls and cakes and draw them in like a damask amoeba.

Rogue snorted and reached for another sherry. "I guess some things never change, huh?"

"In some cases yes, but in some… no." The Professor pressed the tip of an index finger to his temple. "Hm. It seems Logan has found Bobby, Sam, Jubilee's guest, and the champagne bottle – less its contents, of course."

"Rogue!" Amara came scampering over, breathless and flushed. For a second Rogue thought it was because she and Tabitha had snuck away together, but that proved false when Amara's breathing evened out and she said, "The photographer's ready to take the pictures for the album. Kitty says she wants all the bridesmaids with her, but I can't find Tabitha or Danielle _anywhere_. I think someone spiked the mineral water, and Danielle was drinking an awful lot of it because it's so hot in these dresses, and… and…"

"Oh, great," Rogue muttered. "Another crisis."

"May I suggest another for the road?" said the Professor, offering a thimble.

Rogue shook her head. "Better not. It's difficult enough to walk in these friggin' shoes as it is." She started after Amara, both of them tottering on their heels in the soft grass. "Right, let's get those shirkers out into the open where they belong. If I have to smile while wearing pink frills, then they're damn well gonna, too."

The Professor watched them go, a slight smile on his lips. He could have made some comment about new beginnings, mutant rhetoric, or the fact that his home made quite a nice backdrop for wedding pictures.

But quite frankly, after today, he was just pleased everyone was still alive.

* * *

FINIS.

* * *

**End Note –** A shikseh, as I understand it, is Yiddish for a person, or the descendants of a person, who has 'married out' of the Jewish community. 


End file.
